Thorough Examination
by asailboatinthemoonlightandyou
Summary: My coping mechanism for Season 3 Episode 4. WARNING: Here be spoilers! Always wanted to write a "Bold Shelagh"-esque fic, so here it is. Set mid-episode, after the cigarette conversation but before Alec's death. Smutty-ish and horribly cheesy. One-shot.


**A/N: **Hello lovelies! So I'm having an inordinate amount of feels about this Sunday's CTM episode and had to cope somehow, so I decided to write a "Bold Shelagh" fic for you darlings. I was rather indifferent to Alec this whole time, but seeing the effect of his death on the community was truly heartbreaking. It's a bit smutty, just warning you, but not vulgarly so. Set mid-episode, before Alec's death. I absolutely loved writing this, and I hope it helps you through the feels like it did me! Much love.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own CTM, just casually borrowing their beautiful characters. Everything is rightfully Heidi, Jennifer, and BBC's!

**Thorough Examination**

_ "Do you want one?"_

_ "I always want one, but you don't always ask."_

The words were still ringing in his head after two penicillin injections, one ulcer dressing, and a set of twins—all before 8 o'clock. He had rushed from the Marston's to his MG the minute he'd handed baby to mother, knowing the midwives could handle the rest and dying to get home to his Shelagh. Timothy was spending the night at Jack's after Cubs that night, so he and his darling wife would have the house to themselves. He even turned off his favorite radio program just to replay her words from that morning, her lovely Scottish lilt consuming his mind.

The subtext of their conversation had not been lost on him. They both knew they'd been talking about more than just cigarettes. Patrick had been pleased to see Shelagh's playful side reemerging after their recent hardship. He had been attentive, but he had also given her space, in _and _out of the bedroom. There were some times he felt it wasn't enough and others when he felt he could do no more. His poor Shelagh, the way she'd looked at that nightdress…

XXX

Shelagh puttered about the kitchen making sure everything for dinner would be sorted out before Patrick came home. She hummed a song she'd heard on the wireless that afternoon as she searched the drawers for the oven mitts. Timothy had used them for a science project of some sort and hidden them God-knows-where. She loved that boy as if he was her own, but he was as careless with household items as his father was about his ties (or any part of his appearance, if she was honest with herself).

She had taken Tim to Cubs once she and the other Nonnatuns had closed up shop at the antenatal clinic, and the walk home had been one of mixed emotions. Seeing all those women pushing prams and buttoning up their children's sweaters had sent pangs of phantom loss shooting through her heart, though she had plastered on a smile and maintained her resolutely professional demeanor.

To ward off gloomy thoughts, she had filled her mind with her husband, pondering their earlier conversation shared over a couple of Henley's. She'd been surprised at her impishness, which had lain dormant since she'd learned the lasting effects of her TB. She'd told him she was a bold girl, but she hadn't believed her own words until she saw the flames dance in his eyes for the first time in weeks. She found herself thinking how fortuitous Timothy's sleepover was, blushing at the implication of her thoughts.

She heard the familiar rumble of the MG rolling up the driveway as she set the food on the cooling rack and began washing the dishes. She considered going out to the porch to meet him but decided against it; she had other ideas. He liked her playful side, and playful she would be.

She pretended not to hear the key in the lock, the medical bag plopping to the floor in the entryway, the coat swishing onto the coat rack. She certainly didn't hear his footsteps advancing toward the kitchen or the sharp intake of breath her husband took as he finally caught sight of her, the woman he'd been pining for all day. She continued rinsing the dishes as he stepped toward her, and then she heard nothing.

She merely _felt._

His calloused fingers tiptoed along her hips as his arms came around her waist, his sleeves rolled up almost to the elbow. She felt an involuntary flush at the sight. She had always admired his hands, his forearms—the way they brought life into the world. Her own hands stopped their duty, but she hadn't the presence of mind to turn off the tap as he began placing sensual kisses on her neck.

"Well then, Mrs. Turner," he murmured huskily, his breath leaving a cooling sensation on the skin his lips had just caressed. "I trust that pink tinge in your cheeks is not merely from the heat of the oven?"

His voice sent shivers down her spine as his fingers drew lazy circles on her hipbones. "How can you be so sure?" she countered, albeit a bit more breathlessly than she'd intended. His plan of playful seduction was quickly eclipsing hers. Oh, what this man could _do_ to her.

"Well, I'm a doctor, you know," he replied, his words teasing but his tone sultry. "I think I know a…_fever_ when I see one."

His fingers inched under her apron, skimming the line of her skirt, brushing along her blouse and leaving behind what felt like a trail of fire. One of her hands reached up to thread through his already thoroughly mussed hair, encouraging his pleasing attentions to her neck. The other absently turned off the tap and came to rest on the edge of the sink for additional support should her knees indeed go weak from the pleasure.

"A fever, hmm?" she purred, feeling a bit more in control, playing along. "That's rather a vague diagnosis."

She felt his teeth nip her skin in response, and she moaned softly in surprise at the contact.

"Are you questioning my judgment, madam?" he asked gruffly as he soothed the place he had bitten with his tongue.

"Of course not, Doctor," she replied matter-of-factly, continuing to knead his scalp with her fingers. "I'm simply wondering if you know the cause."

"Well," he breathed as he nibbled the spot just below her ear that he knew drove her absolutely mad, "I'd have to carry out a _thorough_ examination."

She turned in his arms then, surprising them both with her boldness as she gripped the lapels of his jacket, pulling him to her so their lips were just a breath apart, her eyes boring into his.

"How thorough?" she asked, her voice a half step from a groan as her eyes flitted down to his lips and back.

"It's a very…_in-depth_ process," he rasped, rolling his hips against hers, eliciting simultaneous moans of pleasure from them both. She bit her lip and met his eyes with a gaze that was equal parts innocent and wanton.

"How long will it take?" she asked, the tension crackling between them as he leaned so close she had no idea how he wasn't kissing her yet.

"All. Night."

Then the dam broke, and his mouth was on hers like she was the only source of oxygen in the world. Her hands wove their way back into his hair as his roamed her body frantically, matching the urgency of his kisses. His tongue invaded her mouth, wanting to taste every inch. He detected the distinct flavor of a Henley, and he knew his addiction to this woman far surpassed his everyday vice.

"Shelagh, darling," he breathed between kisses, biting at her lips, her chin, her jaw line.

"Mmm, Patrick," she keened, capturing his lips again and reciprocating his trail of kisses over the slight stubble peppering his cheeks.

He hoisted her onto the edge of the sink, causing their hips to brush and drawing groans from both of them, so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. He had just reached the kitchen door when she half-heartedly asked, "Patrick, darling, aren't you hungry?"

He seemed to ignore the question, resuming his frantic kisses, but then he answered, "Not for dinner."

She giggled into his kisses as they made their way upstairs. Oh, how he had missed that laugh, that infectious joy she seemed to radiate like sunshine.

She was surprised when he tossed her playfully on the bed, causing her to break out in a fresh fit of giggles that quickly dissolved into breathy moans as he crawled up her body, gliding his hands up as well. She sighed in weak protest as he purposefully avoided her inner thighs and breasts. He knew her body well enough by now to know those areas triggered the most pleasure for her.

He sat up to straddle her as he set about removing her glasses and unpinning her hair. She lay motionless, captivated, arms above her head. There was something so erotic about him towering over her, so much so that it sent a fresh wave of heat to her core. She felt small in his arms, protected from the horrors and injustice of the world. That was impractical, she knew, but she'd thrown all practicality to the wind by shedding the habit and giving in to her feelings for this beautiful man.

She shrugged his jacket off his shoulders, and he discarded his vest before she started on the buttons of his shirt. They threw items of clothing haphazardly about the room, smiling into their kisses.

Finally she was down to her ivory slip and he to his trousers. She tugged his pants down to reveal the most absurd pair of boxers she'd ever seen, dotted with little red hearts. Shelagh burst out laughing as she rose up on her elbows to get a better view.

"Wherever did you get those ridiculous things?" she gasped between giggles.

"Wedding present from Timothy," he declared, getting up on his knees and placing his fists on his hips like Superman preparing to take off.

This threw Shelagh into even harder laughter as her head fell back on the pillow. He loved her laugh, but he also loved her kisses, so he stopped her mouth with his.

"I suppose," he murmured, fingering the hem of her flip as he nibbled her jaw line, "he thought they were a proper manifestation of my love for you."

"I suppose so," she conceded as his hand traveled higher along her thigh. "Though I believe they run a close second to _this_."

She gripped him firmly in her hand through the boxers. He gasped and recoiled immediately, grabbing her hand and its twin that lay at his hip and holding them above her head.

"You." Kiss. "Saucy." Kiss. "Minx," he growled, undulating his hips against hers, wiping the smile off her face as her mouth formed an O and her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

He kept one hand threaded through both of hers as his other pushed her slip up below her breasts. He nuzzled into her stomach, smattering kisses all over as he released her hands to pull the slip over her head.

He was not prepared for what he saw.

She was wearing the most exquisite white lace undergarments he had ever seen. He had always thought her body supple and feminine, but the way the barely-there fabric hugged every subtle curve was just mesmerizing.

Instead of the expected shy, demure face desperate for approval, Patrick saw the smuggest smirk he'd ever witnessed spreading across his wife's features. She knew exactly how much she was affecting him. She crooked a finger and gave him a "come hither" gaze, and he was only too happy to oblige.

He ran his hands over the lace, simultaneously reverent and hungry, as he leaned to meet her lips. She pulled him down to caress her neck as she whispered, "Trixie said you'd like them."

"Trixie?" he retorted. "Are these not standard issue from the Mother House at Chichester?"

Her seductive façade was then again broken by laughter as she shucked his boxers off with her feet.

"Darling," Patrick breathed, "as much as I adore these exquisite additions to your wardrobe, I'm afraid they'll have to come off."

She rose up to place kisses across his chest and shoulders as he fumbled with the clasp at her back, undoing it and freeing her breasts from their lace confines.

He laid her back down and worshipped her newly exposed skin with his lips and hands, alternating between it, her collarbone, and her stomach. She felt as though his hands were everywhere at once, and she carded hers through his hair to anchor her.

The rough pads of his fingers slowly dragged along her sides in delicious friction before sliding beneath the scrap of lace at her waist, pulling it down and off her legs.

Playfulness had dominated their lovemaking that night, but an air of solemnity suddenly hung over them. His chin rested on her hip, and he placed a reverent kiss there before moving back up her body to rest his forehead against hers.

"Patrick," she began hesitantly, her voice quivering as her hands tenderly framed his face, her eyes desperately staring into his. "This is the first time we…since…"

She faltered, and he broke their passionate gaze to brush his nose along either side of hers.

"I know, my love," he intoned.

"Am I…" she paused as he looked up at her. "Am I entitled to feel this pleasure, even if there's no life to come of it?"

Tears teetered on the brims of her eyelids.

"Oh, darling," he sighed, wicking them away with his lips. "There _is_ life here because there is _love _here. When I make love to you, that's just it: we _make love_. And that's all life's about, isn't it? People sharing their love with each other? It may not be _new _life, but it is life."

She smiled through her tears at his tenderness. "You really are a wonderful man, you know," she said, her finger brushing across his temple. He turned to press a kiss to her palm, and her hand wound to the back of his neck as her other encouraged his hips forward.

He swallowed her moan as he entered her, his hands seeking hers to thread their fingers and spread their arms wide on the mattress. He set a steady pace, bringing their linked hands on either side of her head as he rose on his elbows for leverage, not wanting to crush her precious body under his weight.

Gasps and moans escaped on shared breath, and she was surprisingly vocal that night, murmuring, "Oh, right there," and "Yes, oh, yes," biting her lip so hard he feared it might bleed. She'd thrown her head back in abandon and begun to cant her hips into his, meeting him thrust for thrust, making the most erotic sounds he'd ever heard in his life. It had always been beautiful between them, but never like this. She was the picture of pleasure and desire, and he found himself on the edge much earlier than usual.

"Shelagh, darling, I—"

"Patrick, I can't—"

"Let go, my love. I'm here—"

"Patrick!"

Her eyes shot open as it happened, bold blue sparking against deep brown. It felt like fire and ice had burst within them and shattered their wounded souls, sewing new ones together in an instant, stitching their hearts together in a scorching blaze of overwhelming pleasure.

They clung to each other as fleeting tremors wracked their bodies in the minutes afterward, feeling more connected than they ever had before.

Patrick rolled down beside her and gathered her in his arms, pulling the rumpled sheets around them.

"Well then, Mrs. Turner," he said softly, breathlessly, as soon as the words could come to him, stroking her hair with an aching tenderness, "I believe, through my _very_ thorough examination, I have discovered the source of your fever, which has increased, I might add."

She simpered at his faux arrogance and raised an eyebrow. "Have you, now, Doctor?"

"Indeed," he nodded. "It's that incorrigible husband of yours."

She giggled and touched her forehead to his. "Ah yes," she murmured between butterfly kisses on his upturned lips. "He's quite a nuisance, that man."

"Quite," he agreed. "Perhaps he ought to be examined as well?" he prompted.

She swung her leg over to straddle him in a burst of energy, mischief, and boldness that surprised them both.

"I suppose that can be arranged."

**Hope you enjoyed it, folks! Please review—I'd love to hear what my fellow fans think! Hope I didn't go too OOC, but I feel like there's a lot of the Turners we don't see on camera, HEIDI *wink wink nudge nudge cough TURNADETTE KISS*. Anywho, love to all.**


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